


starlight and star-crossed

by celestialskies



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: 1940s, F/F, Fluff, Hazel's POV, Marriage Proposal, george & alexander are only mentioned in a letter, gratuitous use of brackets, minor george/alexander, no one needs so much extra info, oh yeah there's also, thats right we're writing unrealtistic and technically illegal vintage proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 16:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskies/pseuds/celestialskies
Summary: Daisy Wells very rarely lets the little things, things like police inspectors, propriety, or laws stop her, and she certainly won't let it keep her from bliss.





	starlight and star-crossed

**Author's Note:**

> (title from let's get married by bleachers)
> 
> ngl i wrote like 2k words of this on a four hour plane flight and then the rest of it in mad bursts on holiday, got home, and forgot about it for more than a month. but we are going to focus on the positives today, like the fact that it is done
> 
> n e ways this is dedicated to the mmul discord server y'all wild
> 
> enjoy!

This is not at all what I bought this casebook for, and I am certain that Daisy would laugh if she knew I was using it for such a frivolous purpose, but I simply _have _to write down the events of tonight. I am so happy I truly think I might burst, and I never ever want to forget even a second of it. But in order to explain _why _I am so happy, I must start with this afternoon.

Daisy had decided to stay late at the office for a reason that she wouldn’t give at the time, but in hindsight must have been to prepare for the evening she had planned, so I returned to our flat alone. Normally I would have looked through the fridge and perhaps begun to make dinner, so that when Daisy eventually returned we could eat together, but tonight she had made me promise we would go out to eat somewhere.

“I’ll pick you up at 7,” she’d said as I left the office, giving me one of those dazzling smiles, the sort that still makes me go weak at the knees all these years later. “Wear something pretty,” she added, because she can never turn down an opportunity to tease me, and I’d laughed as I stepped out into the early autumn evening. As if I would ever wear anything but my best for a date with the honourable Daisy Wells.

At home, I hung my coat on the peg by the door and slipped off my work shoes before I stepped any further into the flat. I am quite certain that if it weren’t for my stubborn rules Daisy would quite simply never tidy up after herself. No matter how good at Deportment she managed to be at school, not even a Deepdean education could interrupt the wild thoughts that dash through that golden head of hers. (I once threatened to stop kissing her entirely if she didn’t start at least putting her shoes away neatly, and the horrified stare I received for my efforts would have unnerved even the hardiest of criminals. I hadn’t flinched at all, however, and Daisy started putting her shoes away properly that very same night.)

It was only quarter past six, so I put the kettle on and settled down at the kitchen table to sort through the post. A letter from our landlord reminding us that this month’s rent was due next week, the newspaper that Daisy insists on getting “To keep up with local events, Hazel, it’s important for a detective to be up to date!” even though we both know it’s just about the most unreliable paper in all of England, and – oh, how wonderful! A letter from Alexander.

He and George have been in America ever since the war ended last year, so it’s been a frightfully long time since we last saw them.

_“Dear Hazel and Daisy,” _the letter began, in Alexander’s familiar scratchy handwriting.

“_It was wonderful to hear from you, even if all your letters arrive more than a week after you send them. Have you solved that missing persons case you mentioned yet? Do let me know what happened! (As much as you can, anyway.)_

_Business here has been boring, to say the least. For such a busy city, New York has had frighteningly little crime for a private detective agency to investigate these past few weeks. We helped a worried old lady find her missing cat last week, and I’m a little ashamed to say it’s the most interesting thing we’ve done this month. She was very kind, and gave us some delicious homemade cookies as thanks, but it almost makes me miss seeing a different murder every few months as students with you girls. (I really don’t know how she made those cookies so delicious, either; rationing is still in effect over here.)_

_Other than the awful boredom, George and I are well. We miss you two, though! We’ll come and visit soon, I promise. George is now giving me a rather pointed look, so I’ll hand over to him.” _

Here the writing changed, curving into George’s loopier, neater script.

“_Hullo, Detectives. Alexander’s right, we do miss you. I don’t believe we’ve seen each other since the war officially ended, so I promise we will come over to visit soon. Perhaps for Christmas? It would be nice to see my brother and Bertie again, too. And sometime after that, you two really must come to us. Have either of you ever been to America? Not in the time we’ve known you, you haven’t. I’m sure Alexander will be more than happy to show you all the local sights. (So will I, but don’t tell Daisy that. I would hate for her to think I like her.)” _

(George does, of course, like Daisy. He and Daisy simply have a weird relationship where they refuse to admit to it, but would almost certainly kill for the other’s sake.)

_“How are the two of you? I see Alexander, tactless as he is, entirely forgot to ask. (Hazel, when you reply, could you be a dear and remind me why I love him?) I can hear the pot on the hob boiling and have banned Alexander from the kitchen for the foreseeable future after he nearly started a fire by forgetting to watch the pasta a couple of weeks ago, so I’ll hand the pen back over to him and try to avoid burning the house down. Hope to hear from you soon.”_

The writing changed once more, indicating that George had left and handed control back to Alexander.

_“I don’t know why I let him write these letters, considering all he does is insult me! He’s right, though, we ought to come over for Christmas! Do let us know if that would work, or if you’ve cruelly betrayed us and made other plans already. Unfortunately, if this letter gets much longer I shall have to post it as a parcel and I don’t much fancy paying extra for the shipping, so I’ll end it here by saying we miss you terribly and look forward to hearing from you again._

_All our love,_

_The Junior Pinkertons_

_(George and Alexander)”_

My cheeks were hurting from smiling so hard at their antics, so I found a piece of paper and a pen to immediately begin writing a reply – complete with a list of all the reasons I knew George actually loved Alexander very, very much.

By the time I remembered to leave some news for Daisy to write, it was twenty to seven by my watch. Daisy would never let me live it down if I wasn’t ready when she returned home to pick me up, so I went into the second bedroom to get ready.

(Although our flat has two bedrooms, only one is slept in. The spare has three purposes: housing guests who come to stay, providing a cover in front of people who might disapprove of a relationship like ours, and storing our nicer clothes.) I skipped over my Hong Kong clothes, foregoing a beautiful light blue cheongsam in favour of something more Western. (I very rarely get to use my traditional Hong Kong attire, but I keep it in the wardrobe to keep it clean.)

In the end I settled on a dark blue evening dress that had been a Christmas gift from Kitty and her husband last year, and picked out my nicest necklace to pair with it. The necklace had been given to me by my father when I graduated from Deepdean, and it was the proudest I’d ever seen him look.

As a finishing touch, and because I wear it everywhere except work, I went into the master bedroom and retrieved my ‘Detective Society Forever’ bracelet from the box on the vanity. On our first anniversary Daisy had nervously presented me with a beautiful silver bracelet, intricately engraved with the words “_To Watson, with love_” on the inside and, of course, “_Detective Society Forever_” on the outside. It was perhaps my most prized possession.

Fifteen minutes later, with my hair re-done in a rather stylish up-do and my makeup refreshed to be more appropriate for a night out than a day at work, I sat down on the sofa to wait. I didn’t have to wait long, however, before a knock sounded at the door. I slipped on my nice shoes, picked up my bag from the hallway, and turned the handle.

Outside, there stood Daisy, gorgeous as ever. She looked simply stunning in a stylish, low-backed light pink number that I could only assume she’d kept at the office, with her long hair released from its usual ponytail to fall elegantly down her back. She gave me a beautiful smile and swept one of my hands into hers, lifting it to her lips to press a gentle kiss to my knuckles.

“You look absolutely resplendent, Watson.”

“Oh, hush,” I said, blushing a deep red, and Daisy was not at all deterred. “So do you,” I admitted. “Utterly beautiful.”

Her smile grew, if possible, even wider, and she released my hand to instead offer me her arm. I locked the door behind me, placed my hand on her arm, and together we stepped into the warm evening.

Daisy refused to tell me where were going, although she did promise it was close enough to walk without hurting our feet. She was so secretive about our intended destination, in fact, that as we rounded the final corner, she made me close my eyes and promise not to look until she said so. I was rather doubtful about her ability to guide me down the street without bumping me into anything, but we managed. When she pulled me to a stop and turned me to face something on the side of the road, she decided closing my eyes wasn’t enough and covered them with her own soft hands.

“And … open,” she whispered, right in my ear, and I shivered as her hands moved and the light returned. I blinked to clear my vision, and when the spots cleared I gasped. We were standing in front of _La Reine_, the fanciest restaurant in this part of London.

I turned to face Daisy, who was smiling triumphantly at me.

“But – we – I mean – Daisy, this is so expensive!” I floundered, “Can we really afford this?”

Daisy must have heard the worry in my voice, because she was quick to reassure me.

“I’ve been saving for a couple of months,” she admitted. “Besides, it’s a little easier to reserve a table if you can pull your last name out and remind the owner that your rich father used to be a frequent patron. It’s all taken care of, I promise.”

I gaped at her, taken entirely by surprise and, I’m a little embarrassed to admit, utterly besotted.

“Now, come on, Watson! Dinner awaits!”

It was probably a good thing Daisy swept me into the restaurant at that exact moment, because if nothing had distracted me I almost certainly would have kissed her right there in the middle of a busy street.

Inside, she gave her name to a waiter in a smartly pressed waistcoat, and we were quickly ushered to a table in the back of the restaurant

“I specifically requested a spot somewhere nearer the back, so we wouldn’t be around quite as many people,” Daisy whispered to me as we walked, and I gave her a grateful smile. The further away from the main crowd we were when eating out, the less we had to hide and pretend to be two good friends on a night out without their husbands. (Although we had, in fact agreed on a cover story some time ago – Daisy’s husband had died bravely in the war and she would simply never fall in love again, so in a bid to cheer her up I had suggested a night on the town.)

The waiter led us to our seats, and pulled each chair out for us. I gave him a polite smile, whilst Daisy simply sat down with a slightly regal air about her. (Daisy still has no time for men who try to do things for her, even when those men are simply doing their jobs as waiters. Unfortunately, on more than one occasion, this aloof and disinterested attitude has only caused admirers to become more infatuated, and she has had to work especially hard to convince them she is decidedly _not _interested.)

I have to admit that most of dinner past in a blur of fancy champagne, elaborate courses, and Daisy’s hand on mine, soft compared to the cool table top.

Soon enough, Daisy declared that it was time to “move on to the next”.

“Are we going somewhere else?” I asked, genuinely surprised. I had assumed that the expensive dinner, perhaps followed by a walk through St. James’ Park, would be our full evening. Daisy gave me a sly smile.

“Why, Hazel Wong, you didn’t think I was _just _taking you out to dinner, did you? I do know how to treat a beautiful girl on a date, you know.”

I looked into her sparkling blue eyes, and felt my chest fill with an impossible warmth. _This is who I want to spend my life with_, I thought suddenly. _Who else?_

Instead of voicing that thought, sappy as it was, I smiled right back.

“Very well, Daisy Wells. Show me your most charming evening.”

Daisy sent me to wait outside whilst she paid payed for our meal – “How chivalrous,” I teased – and I stood on the pavement looking towards the sky. The first stars were emerging, twinkling lights in the dusk.

I only had a few moments of solitary star-gazing before Daisy joined me, and once more offered me her arm.

“Once more unto the breach, dear Watson?”

“Why, of course,” I replied, and she began to steer me towards our next stop. This destination was also kept from me, although I was allowed full visibility this time. We only had to walk for about 15 minutes, arms linked the whole way, until we stopped once more. This time, we stood at the bottom of the front steps of the Royal Majesty Concert Hall. Once more dumbfounded, I fixed a disbelieving stare on my partner, who for her part didn’t look at all repentant.

“Daisy Wells, do we have _any _savings left?”

Daisy laughed, reaching into her own bag and returning with two tickets that were undeniably for the Royal Majesty Concert Hall.

“Hazel Wong, I promise I did not use all our savings on this one night.”

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited, so I took her hand once more and allowed myself to be led up the steps.

The concert was absolutely fantastic. The orchestra were incredible, all swelling strings and angelic piano melodies, and more than once I caught Daisy staring at me with a somewhat love-struck look in her eyes, and more than once she flushed bright red when I smiled at her, and quickly averted her gaze.

By the time the final note had stopped reverberating around the hall and we returned to the world of normal people, night had well and truly fallen. A few brave stars had pierced through the London lights to reach us, and the sky was void of clouds. The early September meant the air was still warm despite the late hour, everyone spilling out of the concert hall in dresses and light suit jackets. It really was a perfect night.

“Only one stop left, dear Watson. What do you say to a walk through the park?”

“At this hour?”

“Of course! Watson, when we were at Deepdean, did it being night-time ever stop us from going anywhere?”

I rather wanted to point out that, when we were at Deepdean, we only really snuck out at night-time if we were investigating a murder, and it was usually far more complicated than any daytime excursion. But Daisy’s cheeks were flushed and she wouldn’t quite meet my eye, and I got the distinct impression that this last part of our already elaborate date was important to her. So I shrugged, and sipped my arm through hers once more.

“Lead the way, love.”

The park was all but deserted, the only other people we passed being a young couple who sprung apart and gave us guilty looks when they heard our footsteps, trying unsuccessfully to pretend they hadn’t just been ‘canoodling’, as we would have said in our Deepdean days. This was presumably because it was nearing midnight, and most sensible people were anywhere but St James’s Park, but Daisy kept walking further, still avoiding eye contact and apparently looking for something particular. It seems that she found it after a few minutes of quiet walking, because she pulled us off the path and into a more secluded clearing of trees.

It looked entirely different in the dark, but nonetheless I recognised it as our usual picnic spot. Why Daisy had brought me here with only thirty minutes until the park closes, I really had no idea, and I had even less of an idea as to why she seemed so incredibly nervous about it.

“Are you alright, Daisy?” I asked, and she still didn’t look at me.

“Of course I am, Hazel, I’m just fine. Now, could you please turn around?”

“Turn around? Why?”

“You’ll see in a minute!” she huffed. “Just – turn around? Please?”

I eyed her suspiciously but her anxious eyes held no answers, so I did as she asked and turned my back.

“No peaking!” Daisy squeaked, and I was beginning to feel distinctly nervous myself. I heard some bizarre rustling from behind, as of something being taken out of a bag, but this gave no clue as to what Daisy was planning.

After some quiet muttering about the state of her dress, Daisy spoke up clearly once more.

“Turn around, Watson.”

I did so, and immediately sucked in an astonished breath. In front of me, in the middle of St James’s Park at half-past eleven was Daisy Wells, crouching on one knee and holding up a small velvet box.

“Daisy, what is this?” I asked, incredulous.

She stared disbelievingly at me for a moment. “Hazel. You are the second best detective I know. Surely you can work out what this is.” Her words were dry, but the slight tremor in her voice gave her away. She was terrified. Daisy took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and when she opened them again they were shining slightly.

“Hazel Wong,” she began. “I’ve known you since we were tiny little Deepdean shrimps, in pinafores too big for us and shoes we scuffed on purpose to make us look careless when really we both cared so much. And I have loved you just as long, but I didn’t have a word for it for a long time. And even when I realised that I loved you more than most girls love their best friends, I didn’t realise quite how deep that love ran; as if it were part of my blood. But I knew, almost from day one, that I wanted to be your friend forever.

“When you first began to be friends with Alexander, I was so fiercely jealous. You were _my _friend, _my _Hazel, and it didn’t seem fair that someone else could come along and steal you away from me. It took me a long time to realise that he wasn’t stealing you, and even longer to realise that the reason I had been so jealous was because Alexander was the sort of person adults would see you befriending and wonder if you would have a future together. That scared me, Hazel, because I wanted to be the one who you spent your future with.

“And then Alexander kissed you, and you began dating him, and it hurt. But you were so happy to finally have his attention the way you wanted it, and who was I to ruin that? Just because I was jealous? I accepted that we would grow up, and it wouldn’t be me you fell in love with. And I’d just about made my peace with it when you broke up with Alexander, and suddenly the feelings returned full-force. You saw me – I self-destructed. I was so scared that I’d accidentally blurt it out and ruin everything that I thought it would be better if I distanced myself from you. I very nearly didn’t realise until it was too late that by doing that, I was ruining everything anyway.

“And then you kissed me for the first time, and it really felt like everything just … fell into place. Every little thing that had been confusing and upsetting me just … didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered except me and you.”

Here, Daisy paused for a moment. My own eyes were definitely shining, tears threatening to spill over if I so much as breathed.

“I love you, Hazel. More than I have ever loved anyone, or anything, before. More than I will ever love anyone again. And I – I know we’re both women, and it wouldn’t be legal, and we couldn’t even tell more than a handful of people, but – I can’t imagine wanting to spend my life with anyone else, Hazel. It’s always been you.

“So, Hazel Wong, my partner-in-stopping-crime and love of my life, will you marry me? Even if all that means is a ring on your finger and a promise to always be together?”

I was openly crying now, tears slipping to the ground and no doubt ruining my makeup. And for a moment I couldn’t speak, too overwhelmed to do more than stare at her, this perfect girl, and Daisy was beginning to look incredibly nervous.

“You – you can say no, if you want. You don’t have to say yes, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“Daisy,” I cut her off, laughing through the tears. “Daisy, my love, why would I ever say no?”

Daisy stared at me, utterly dumbfounded, still on one knee.

“You – you will? You’ll marry me?”

“Yes, Daisy Wells,” I whispered, and she leapt to her feet. I reached for her, and she came with no resistance whatsoever, looking like Christmas had come early and was also going to be every day. “I will marry you, in whatever way I can.”

The box popped open, revealing the most beautiful golden ring I’ve ever seen. (Not that I’ve seen many, but I am sure that you showed me all the golden rings in the world none would even come close to the one that my Daisy gave me.) It was a simple golden band, a small diamond set into the middle, but all around the outer circle tiny flowers were carved into the metal.

“They’re daisies,” the real Daisy whispered, sounding more than a little choked, and I nodded.

“I know it’s cheesy, and silly,” she continued, “but I wanted it to have something to set it apart so it wasn’t just some plain old band, and I’d already used up personal phrases on your bracelet.”

I gave a quiet, wet laugh. “It’s beautiful, Daisy. Really.”

She slid the band onto my shaking finger, and then clasped my hand between both of her own.

“I love you,” I whispered, almost afraid to speak too loud and ruin the moment. “I love you so, so much.”

She kissed me then, soft and slow and oh-so sweet. Her lips still tasted faintly of the champagne from dinner, and they tasted of bubbles and fizz and excitement. I raised my left hand to cup her cheek, and Daisy covered it with one of her own, caressing the band on my finger almost reverently.

I rather think I could have stayed there forever, kissing in the park under the stars, but it was nearing midnight and if we didn’t hurry we’d get locked in there as the gates closed for the night. I really didn’t fancy trying to climb the gate in small heels and an evening dress, so I pulled back and gently wiped the tears from the corner of Daisy’s eyes.

“Let’s go home, my love,” I said, as softly as I could, and Daisy nodded. “Let’s go home.”

And now I am sitting up in bed as my _fiancée _(my fiancée! What a wonderful word!) sleeps soundly next to me, writing this all down as fast as I can to preserve the memories forever. Every so often the lamplight makes the ring flash, and I smile all over again as I twist it on my finger. In the morning we shall have to decide if we want to have a small, secretive ceremony, with the few people we know we can trust with this knowledge, and we shall have to telephone George and Alexander to tell them. (I am not entirely convinced we would not become the victims of London’s next murder case if we told them such important news in a _letter_, of all things.) Tomorrow there will be plenty to do. But for tonight I am content to finish this account and lie down next to the love of my life (who asked me to _marry_ her! Can you believe it?), curl my arms around her, and sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact i completely made up La Reine and the Royal Majesty Concert Hall bc i tried to research historically accurate places they could go, got confused, and gave up. please do not ask me how both of these fancy, probably rather distinctive places sustained so little damage during the blitz that they could reopen for business just over a year after ww2 ended i did not come here for historical accuracy i came here to be gay and commit crimes
> 
> i,,, cannot tell if this is good anymore or not so i'll leave that up to y'all (mayhaps u could,, leave a comment,,, telling me if u thought it was good … ahahah just kidding bro … unless …)


End file.
